


Ashes

by Okamichan6942



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-05
Updated: 2011-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okamichan6942/pseuds/Okamichan6942
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does the universe notice a single death, or even a great multitude?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> This was another fic scratched off my WIP list. I danced with joy. First time posting to this Archive, hopefully I did It Right.

 ‘ _When a spark goes online, there is great joy in the universe. When one is extinguished, Cybertron weeps._ ’  
  
Words from an age long gone past, when Cybertron still glittered gold with newness. Words from a philosopher who saw promise in every mech that walked out of the labs, before there were factories mass-producing soldiers that only lived long enough to die in their first battle. Words from a time when worship of Primus and the Allspark intertwined completely.  
  
Of course, the likes of Wheeljack and Prowl would say the universe does not take note of any single individual, or even any single planet. Explosions stir up clouds of ash. Ash is then tossed about by the turbulent winds, but eventually fall back to the ground, as per the laws of gravity.  
  
Surely, Optimus would like to argue with their callous words, if the universe won’t notice the death of a single spark, surely it must feel it when a hundred, thousands die at once. Does nothing see when so much potential is destroyed, even before it’s had a chance to take root?  
  
He doesn’t have to say it to know that they would shake their heads, but not argue back.  
  
You don’t argue with your Prime, and rather than make them uncomfortable, he stands and watches Cybertron weep around him. The soft touch of her tears a wirelight touch on his frame, his face turned up to allow the ash to kiss his face.  
  
He only takes care to shield the hatchling in his arms; tiny systems are so sensitive to the smallest micron of dust.  
  
The hatchling lies cold and still in his hands, its spark a bare flicker on his sensors; beyond the help of even Ratchet’s considerable skills.  
  
Yet he can’t make himself lay it down with the hundreds others that had been excavated so far. To do so would acknowledge the fact that he had been trying to hold off for the past several breem.

Bumblebee comes up next to him, sparing the hatchling in the Prime’s arms a sorrowful glance. “You requested a report.”

 Optimus shifts the cold frame into the crook of his arm, freeing his other hand to swing by his side.  “Is it bad, Bumblebee?”  
  
A soft, melancholic laugh spits out of the yellow mech’s vocalizer.  He hands Optimus a datachip.  “Do I really need to answer that?”

The scout turns and walks away, rather than wait for the Prime’s answer.  
  
Optimus places the chip into a data slot in his helm. The information flickers through his HUD: Autobot casualties, civilian survivors and the lack thereof, energon supplies, artillery supplies. Civilian casualties.  
  
The word doesn’t do the truth justice.  
  
Optimus curls his free hand over the small frame. The miniscule spark signature wavers dangerously. Here in his arms lies one of the civilian casualties. Before it had even a chance to truly live.  
  
The report lay bare the truth of the devastation. No survivors, not even a single worker.  
  
Ironhide comes up behind the Prime and rests an arm on his shoulder. “Let it go, Prime. It will die. We need to leave.”  
  
Optimus vents a defeated sigh. Drawn out of his contemplation, he realizes that the indelible sound of industrious mechs has ceased. He looks forlornly down at the dying hatchling, wishing he could save it somehow, watch it grow into a full mech.  
  
Ratchet had scanned it, when they pulled it out from the rubble, and determined then that it’s spark was too far gone to be saved. It would take a miracle of the Allspark to help it now.  
  
Miracles were in short supply these days.  
  
Ratchet hadn’t thought it would last the cycle.  
  
Optimus hadn’t wanted the hatchling to die cold and alone, and so he held it as he supervised the failed rescue effort.  
  
Not one single survivor.  
  
That fact hurt like a frame-deep wound. They had driven away the Decepticons in vain. The hatchery was destroyed, the workers killed. The nursery was a pile of inert rubble. How many lives would be wasted by Megatron’s unending lust for the Allspark? How many more lives would be ended before they had even begun? Optimus looked out on a barren field and in the distance all he could see was hopelessness, and unending battles. Would it not be better to give up everything, surrender to Megatron?  To end the conflict, end the unnecessary loss of life?  
  
A solitary sootflake drifts past the Prime’s protective arm. It lands, a black smudge, on the little face.  
  
Optimus rumbles, and wipes a finger across the tiny cheek spar. He eases the little hatchling into his hands and bends to set it down.  
  
Tiny grippers latch onto his thumb before he can. Little optics look up at him, dim and flickering. Yet in them, Optimus can discern a singular determination.  
  
Stunned, Optimus gazes down at this last remaining remnant of a once great facility. It didn’t want to give up, has it not lasted past Ratchet’s predicted cycle? Optimus draws the hatchling closer to the warmth of his spark. He looks up to Ironhide, and lifts his chin, resolved. “We will bring it.”  
  
Ironhide narrows his eyes, engine rumbling with disagreement. However, he merely turns and marches down to the rest of the troops.  
  
Optimus straightens and transforms, drawing the hatchling into his storage compartment; warming the space for the cold, little body. If this tiny, little hatchling refused to give in so easily, than neither could Optimus Prime. He knows Megatron’s madness wouldn’t stop with victory. It would only give him free reign over the entire planet. Optimus could not, would not allow that to happen.  
  
If this little one shows such conviction in its choice to live, to be the sole survivor of this tragedy, Optimus could do no less. He will not call it ‘hatchling’, but will name it as a sparkling. Optimus changes the record that Bumblebee gave him, to list the new sparkling as the sole survivor of this tragedy.

 The little one will be facing difficult times in the coming growth cycles, as the Autobots had limited supplies to convert and upgrade a youngster. He will likely be stunted, but Optimus would see that he received the best tutoring. The best programming that will let him survive their war torn world.  
  
Optimus can already see that the little sparkling is a fighter, and so it is no surprise to him when Jazz fully joins the Autobot ranks.


End file.
